


In the Garden

by shopfront



Category: Alpennia Series - Heather Rose Jones
Genre: Book 1, F/F, Missing Scene, Mistaken Identity, Pre-Relationship, Temporary Amnesia, Trapped in a Small Space, Unresolved Sexual Tension, accidental magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-11-23 19:14:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20894714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shopfront/pseuds/shopfront
Summary: Feeling more lost in the social whirl than usual leads Margerit to say an impulsive prayer to the Saints for confidence and happiness. She gets more than she bargained for when they answer her prayer.





	In the Garden

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ConvenientAlias](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConvenientAlias/gifts).

She hadn't intended to try working another mystery alone so soon. Whenever she'd considered it, the fatigue she'd felt after the last had welled up in her memory as fresh as if she had only just freshly woven the protection over Barbara. But another long week of pointed looks and irritating social planning had worn her down, and in her distraction she'd committed some small faux pas that she still couldn't understand the import her aunt gave it.

Frustrated to still be hearing about it the next day, Margerit had slipped away and made a beeline for the gardens. She'd have preferred the library, but it was quite clear that her studies were considered an unwelcome distraction and Margerit didn't want to risk drawing extra attention to them. Hesitating on the threshold, she was grateful at least to see Marken had followed her without her needing to say where she was going. A small part of her that wasn't lost to anger was relieved that at least Barbara wouldn't have reason to scold her today as well.

The gardens were as empty as she had hoped and Margerit stayed still at the door for long enough to draw in a deep breath. It still wasn't the same as Chalanz, of course. The air was never as fresh, and she was always caught between the sounds of the house and the distant rushing of the river ahead of her. But nevertheless, once she was outside her tension left her and her hand drifted idly to the chain of the necklace tucked into her dress.

Margerit toyed with it for a moment, then pulled the necklace free of her clothes entirely. It was an old, tarnished thing, and not befitting her station. But it was a favourite from her childhood, even if it was liable to invite fresh scrutiny if others were to see her openly wear it. It had turned up amongst her things the night before, and on a tired whim she'd murmured an impulsive and improvised prayer over it before bed. Words about wrong childhoods and feeling unprepared with a plea for help, even though in the moment she'd felt far worse than simply unprepared. She'd been lost to fears of never being able to really navigate the world she now found herself in with the sort of deft assurance it seemed she needed to achieve her dreams.

It had been the urge of a moment to pour those fears into a reminder of Chalanz. The mystery itself had been as unplanned and lacking in research as the one she'd performed over Barbara's sick bed, but whatever instinct had called her to the task had borne fruit. The necklace had flared bright and faded with the saint's attention, and afterward she'd noticed how much better she felt when she had the little slip of a thing to hand.

Now she rubbed her thumb across the surface of the medallion as she stepped into the garden, and it obediently sparked to her touch and warmed the tips of her fingers. As she began to walk the long, narrow paths that led towards the water, her mind wandered likewise.

Suddenly it occurred to Margerit, almost as if someone had whispered in her ear, that her aunt's scolding was correct. She _had_ been distracted last evening. The dinner invitation had been accepted under pressure while her mind was occupied with books and research, but it had been extended with genuine warm intent. It had only been a small slight on her part, the wrong glance here and a moment of inattention there and exactly the sort of minute social nuance that usually escaped her. But she'd been in the city long enough now that those things were probably becoming harder for others to forgive.

Those were the currents and subtleties that Barbara couldn't always help her with, not when she wasn't directly by Margerit's side to give instruction. If only she had also been borne and raised here, Margarit thought with a heavy sigh. The warmth of the necklace flared again and comforted her as she bent to brush her other hand through the fading greenery of the dying summer garden, and the sweet smell of the plants helped her worries about correcting the error without losing precious time from her studies to fade away.

When she straightened up again, Margerit's gaze immediately locked with another's eyes. She dropped the necklace entirely as her hands flew to her mouth to smother a shriek. It thumped back down against her chest with a weight that belied its size, and the warmth of it increased near to scalding—even through her gown—as she stared in shock at the well dressed gentleman who had appeared seemingly from nowhere.

Or not nowhere, she realised, even as for a moment she found herself tempted to do nothing in response. He looked quite dashing, caught in silhouette against the ruddy light of the late day, with such intense eyes—and quite beautiful ones at that—that her heart thumped in her chest and she very nearly break their gaze.It felt briefly like something from a tawdry romance story. The sort she would have had to secret away in her room where neither aunt nor uncle might find it, if she'd been inclined to read them instead of losing herself in other sorts of books.

But the scoundrel had most likely encroached upon her property via the river dock, and her shock faded quickly into fear.

Margerit mustered herself to turn and shout for Marken, but before she could cry out she realised he was already at her back—though, oddly, he wasn't moving to shield her or draw her away. Instead of the expected alarm on her armin's face, she caught his usually stern expression just as it cracked into something almost like amusement. Then he made a complicated gesture of his hand and turned back towards the house before she could protest, leaving her alone and unguarded.

*

It was with silent amusement that Barbara pointed out which dock the the riverboat should stop at. Though it had only been a convenience to return by water this time, rather than a necessity, the reaction of the riverman when compared to the last man to ferry her across the water was as different as night and day.She was dressed in the finest set of her disguises this time, which certainly helped, and draped in the simplest yet highest quality material she could justify. The full effect of her disguise was one intended to be that she be hard to recognise but not unwelcome in the stately houses along the river.

Still, the gaze of the oarsman lingered on her curiously anyway. Barbara was careful under his scrutiny to keep her shoulders as straight and broad as she could make them look and tuck away any stray escaping locks of hair before they could be noticed. Her adventures that day had been active but not strenuous, and she was confident her disguise still held up as true as it possibly could under the circumstances.

Perhaps too true, she realised with concern even as she paid the man and quickly began the climb from the dock. Once she'd risen well above the water level, she realised she could see a familiar gowned figure in the upper reaches of the garden, and when she glanced back the man who'd ferried her home was smirking as he let the current carry his boat away again.

It wasn't often that Margerit wandered down this far towards the river, but even from the distance of the water's edge it was obvious that a young lady roamed the paths with little but her armin in attendance. The riverman probably thought Barbara to be truly a man and paying court to a mistress, or perhaps even someone else's wife if she was sneaking in furtively from the river. The only luck in his mistake was the possibility that a riverman might neither know nor care exactly which specific society lady this or that riverfront belonged to.

But with a sigh, she realised there was nothing to be done about it now. Barbara caught Marken's eye as she climbed the final steps from the dock and signalled to him that she would take responsibility for Margerit. She was still overly wound up from her failed hunt in the streets of Rotenek, perhaps more than was advisable if she was to take responsibility for another's safety, and she half-expected one of Markham's usual protests about it. But even with her distraction, any threat in Margerit's home would be more easily contained than elsewhere and Barbara was already late returning; she owed him the respite.

She loosened her collar as she reached the peak of the stairs, stepping into the garden proper just as she was suddenly overcome by the warmth of her climbing exertions. Without thinking, she loosened her collar another button. Distracted and fanning her face discretely with her hand as she hoped for a breeze to counteract the heat, she almost missed Marken making no attempt to hide his thoughts as he withdrew. But the quirk of his lips was unguarded enough for her to spot, and she was gallant enough not to take offence at his amusement over her proprietary feelings towards Margerit. He had been relieved by Barbara's recovery, and his enjoyment of seeing her hale and hearty would likely fade back into professionalism and protestations soon enough.

Her gaze caught Margerit's even as she communicated all of that silently with Marken. Margerit's eyes were wide with shock at her sudden appearance, Barbara finally noticed. But she didn't hurry to reassure her. It couldn't hurt to remind her of the warning to always keeping an armin close to hand, even at home.

Once Marken had retreated from the garden, she turned back to Margerit with an explanation for her clothes and her absence ready on her lips. As she did, the fading light of the afternoon glinted off a flash of silver around Margerit's neck and distracted her. Barbara fidgeted again with her collar, feeling a little overly warm once more—and even as Margerit's name and the words she'd prepared began to slip away from her so easily that she barely noticed them go.

*

Margerit thought there was something soft in the man's eyes as she spun back around. She was already backing away in alarm even if there was no armin available for her to back towards, but the skittering sound of a stone below had both of them stilling and that strange softness quickly disappeared from the man's eyes.

"It isn't safe for you here," he said, reaching for Margerit's elbow. Only—

His voice wasn't particularly deep, and something about that rooted Margerit to the spot even though she knew better than to trust a stranger. In her distraction, she'd allowed the touch to her arm before she could think better of it—and she did know better, she realised suddenly, and always had. Not just because she'd been told so in recent months by someone important….

She wrenched her arm away even as that odd thought slipped through her fingers like so many wisps of fog. She was Margerit Sovitre, heiress to a Baron, and she had been raised by the Baron to know everything she needed to wriggle her way out of this without finding herself forceably attached to either a fortune seeker or a scandal.

"Identify yourself," she demanded icily, still backing towards the house and Marken's departed figure. She couldn't think of what else to do—even if he had abandoned both her and any semblance of duty by leaving her. Locating and securing her armin for long enough to find one of her chaperones was still the first very important step she must take.

But it didn't seem as if her words were being heeded. Instead, Margerit watched as the man removed his hat and loosened his collar still further until they revealed a carefully pinned pile of hair and the soft curves of a feminine face and throat.

Staring openly now, Margerit's feet stumbled to a stop without her permission. Not a man but a woman, and there was no great scandal in that other than the fear of another person's unknown purpose. Yet still she found herself unable, or perhaps unwilling, to resist when the other woman seized her firmly. Distantly she heard again the clear thumping of wood against wood that echoed through the air over the sound of the river's usual lapping hum. Before she could speak or grow alarmed anew, the woman drove Margerit backwards towards a decorative garden wall bisected by a small niche of an alcove. As Margerit watched, one side of the alcove swung open beneath the woman's searching hands to reveal a tiny sliver of a doorway and darkness beyond.

Immediately, the woman tugged Margerit between herself and the door. Margerit braced her hands on the narrow doorframe and stared into the tiny room, astounded that she'd never known her own garden concealed such a thing.

"Be quick," the woman said even as she shoved Margerit hard enough that she fell inside. Then the woman followed Margerit, pulling the door shut behind them with a protesting creak that made them both freeze.

Trapped now in the musty slip of a room, Margerit could only wonder what had come over her that she'd let herself be pushed into such a place. With its stone walls and cramped quarters lit only by the faint daylight that shone in around the ill-fitting door, which was swollen and warped from many seasons of rain and flooding, the little room made her long for the warm parlour room that she'd slighted only the day before. Being confined in such a place with a stranger and no escort seemed to almost be begging for a scandal. Margerit was normally far more cautious than this— or was she, a traitorous little voice murmured in the back of her mind, as the woman shifted again and a familiar but unplaceable scent filled her nostrils.

Wriggling to free her hand, Margerit gripped her necklace for strength and let that little voice fade away. In its place, outrage began to well up.

"Your family's honour will answer for this… this—," Margerit hissed, before trailing off in confusion, unable to put into words exactly why the situation felt so deeply improper.

*

Distracted by the sensation of warmth engulfing her and the flash of metal at the other woman's throat, Barbara didn't question the urge to protect the stranger she found before her. A word lingered on the tip of her tongue, almost like a name. But it did not reveal itself before her ears again caught the sound of thumping and skittering movement down by the dock—and then she was too distracted to wonder about things she couldn't recall.

Reluctant for reasons she couldn't quite put her finger on to peer back over the edge at the water and be seen by whomever was attempting to access the dock, Barbara instead looked around them at the garden. An odd niche in a wall seemed to beckon her, and she didn't question the instinct to drag the other woman over to it and find a way to squeeze them through the door that opened unexpectedly beneath her hands.

She got them both inside not a moment too soon. A distant yell was heard just as she struggled to pull the door that final inch shut, and then footsteps went charging past their hiding place from the house towards the water. The other woman squirmed beside her, seemingly unheeding of the danger outside, and Barbara peered at the faint shape of her in the darkness. Before Barbara could ask what the woman was doing, she'd wriggled a hand free from between their bodies and somehow managed to press them even closer together in the confined space.

Barbara hissed in a breath as the movement pressed their bodies closer together, and missed the words when the other woman spoke sharply. But her tone made the accusation clear enough. Barbara chuckled despite herself, and the other woman immediately puffed up in outrage.

Suddenly realising exactly how badly she was about to make a mess of things by laughing, Barbara shifted back on her heels just far enough that she could easily capture the other woman's hand and raise it a little further to her lips. That, at least, seemed to silence her. It also pulled the woman further towards the slight crack of daylight that was all they had to see by.

Even poorly lit, her eyes were bright and beautiful as she stared at Barbara. Her mouth was parted in silent surprise and the skin on the back of her hand was soft as silk beneath Barbara's lips. It was all Barbara could do to make herself lower their hands again.

"My name is Barbara," she said as she stroked her thumb across the woman's knuckles. She listened as the woman's breath hitched, and restrained her smile to something small enough that it might be lost in the dark.

Footsteps went thudding by once more, followed by more inaudible yelling from up near the house. Barbara turned back to the crack in the door and attempted to peer out, but the commotion was far too high up the garden path for her to see—and something inside her whispered that it wasn't worth the risk to emerge just yet.

*

As the other woman—no, Barbara, she'd introduced herself as Barbara—attempted to gauge the events unfolding outside, Margerit found herself transfixed by a lock hair that was slowly working itself free of Barbara's hairpins. It looked like it had been tucked back into place more than once and as Barbara shifted again for a better view, pressing herself harder against Margerit's skirts, it finally pulled free and tumbled down and brought a tiny cascade of other pins with it.

Margerit broke into high-pitched laughter at such a mundane sight in a strange place and bit her tongue to quieten herself immediately but the damage was done. Barbara's attention had returned to her, and her eyes were narrow as she raised a finger to Margerit's lips in warning. The movement brought them closer still, and Margerit stilled as thigh met thigh even through the voluminous material of her gown.

Barbara froze as well, and they stood there silent together in the dark.

"If I'm to call you Barbara, you should call me Margerit," Margerit finally whispered. They were stood so close together that she could feel Barbara's shiver as Margerit's lips moved against her finger.

"Margerit, then," Barbara agreed, her tone husky. Seemingly as if in a trance, she traced her finger gently across the curve of Margerit's lower lip until Margerit could no longer hold back a gasp.

The sound seemed to startle Barbara, and she dropped her hand like the touch had burned her. It didn't fall far, however. Trapped between the crush of their bodies, Barbara's fingers tangled in the chain of Margerit's necklace and her fingers grazed the delicately stitched neckline of her dress instead.

Reminded suddenly of her earlier thought about tawdry romances, Margerit pressed forward into the touch without thinking. Barbara's fingers slipped from fabric to skin, and they both shuddered from even that smallest of movements. A half-remembered thought teased uselessly at her mind, and a voice seemed to whisper in her ear but too lowly to be heard over the rushing of her heartbeat. In a desperately giddy rush, Margerit allowed herself half a moment to consider what it might be like to be pressed so closely together without the encumbrance of her ridiculous gown—only for all thought to immediately flee again when Barbara's head dipped down.

They shared breath for one long, tortured moment. Until that moment was shattered by a voice. Someone was calling for them; yelling their names only a few feet away and making them both jump.

Barbara pulled back so sharply that she rebounded against the door, banging her elbow and cursing. Margerit felt the slightest stab of pain at her neck, only to forget it immediately as she was blinded by daylight when Barbara threw open the door and tumbled out. There was a knife suddenly in her hand though drawn from Margerit knew not where, and Margerit followed more slowly on shaky legs.

She didn't notice the glint of metal as it slid free of her throat and tumbled through her skirts to the floor. Instead, she blinked as she emerged only to stare at the man before Barbara. No, not any man, at Marken, her armin who had… not abandoned her, only left her in the care of—

Holding a hand to her forehead, Margerit shook her head gently and wondered what exactly had come over her. Marken was watching her in clear concern when she looked up, and she opened her mouth to reassure him only to find she didn't know what she might say to allay his fears. It wasn't very respectable to be crawling into secret walls in the garden after all, even if it had been her other armin who had chosen the way.

She shut her mouth again as Barbara stepped in front of Margerit, shielding her from Marken's view while Barbara sheathed her blade.

"The intruders?" Barbara asked. Her voice sounded weak, and Margerit glanced behind them at the empty little room and frowned. Her fingers strayed to the small stinging spot on the crease of her neck; it felt like she'd forgotten something important.

"I saw a face pop up over the riverwall but they dived back into the river once they realised they'd been spotted," Marken said slowly. "Or maybe once they saw you were gone, they glanced around the garden quickly first."

Barbara glanced over her shoulder at Margerit, her brows furrowed in question. But Margerit couldn't quite decipher what the question might be.

"We should return the house," Marken continued pointedly, though he also seemed puzzled as he watched Barbara watch her.

Margerit quickly stepped forward and agreed with him, letting him direct her to walk ahead of him in case of further ambush. But after she'd obligingly gone ahead she looked back over her shoulder, and the image of Barbara—still frowning and looking at the small alcove room in confusion—stuck in her mind until long after all three of them had returned to the more sedate safety of the Tiporsel House library.


End file.
